Dog Eat Dog Games
by FearlesslyLoveMCR
Summary: I watched the way The Founders pale lips moved. The way they shaped my name. "Claire Danvers." This was it. I was a tribute in their Hunger Games. A pawn on their chessboard. I would have to fight for Morganville. Fight for Shane. Fight to win.
1. Chapter 1

_**Claire**_

Claire looked up at the large makeshift stage. It spread out along the length of the town hall in Founders Square. The vampires herded them into lines. Humans on one side. Unfortunate, so-called dishonerable vampires on the other. She was jammed between two scared-looking humans. Sweat trickled down her forehead and dampened her shirt. She remembered them reading out the names of the tributes from other parts of Morganville. There were six districts, two tributes from each. One human and one vampire. She remembered praying when they read out the names from Shane's district. Praying they didn't read his name. They didn't. She remebered feeling lightheaded with relief. They'd been separated for three years now, ever since the Founder split Morganville into six, condemning certain vampires to take part in these sick, twisted games, and all humans. The vast majority of vampires were safe. They watched from their living rooms, as tributes murder and slaughter.

The lights glared on, a stark contrast to the dark night and whatever terrified whispers there were died out. They knew better. A petite figure glided across the stage. She was wearing a long, pale, shimmering dress that flowed around her. Her white-blond hair was loose around her shoulders and flowed in soft waves. Diamonds glittered in her hair. The sight of her nearly made Claire sick with disgust.

"Attention," The Founder spoke into the microphone. Her voice was soft and delicate as a flower and it echoed around Founders Square. Many people flinched at the sound. "You are all welcome to the drawing of the names for the third annual Hunger Games."

A boy beside Claire started to cry and he let out a quiet, strangled squeal. She couldn't look at him, if she did, she might cry too. So she focused her eyes straight head.

"Without further ado, I will first announce the vampire tribute in this years Hunger Games."

Claire could almost hear the vampires taking a quick breath in unision. There was a moment of silence as a smirking Oliver reached into the large glass bowl full of vampires names and plucked a folded up piece of paper. He then crossed the stage and handed it to Amelie.

She unfolded it slowly, drawing out the anticipation and read, "Jason Rosser."

Claire didn't look. Didn't try to seek him out. She heard shouting, an angry outcry and the sounds of a struggle, but in the next moment he was on stage, on both arms being held tightly by vampire guards. He looked unsteady and terrified, like he wanted to jump straight off the stage and into the crowd. Claire was sure that if the vampire guards hadn't been holding him so tightly he would have been strugling. For a moment his eyes locked with Claire's, before they skittered away.

"Now," Amelie said. "The human who will be accompanying ," she opened the folded piece of white paper Oliver had handed her. Claire's heart sped up and she wanted to closeher eyes tightly. Instead, she watched the way The Founder's pale lips moved. The way they shaped the name. "Claire Danvers."

Claire's eyes widened at the sound and The Founder's bore into hers, cool and dangerous. Everybody had turned to stare at her and her legs felt as though they could no longer hold her up. People murmured and told her to move, to go towards the stage, but that was the last place she wanted to go. Her heart was thumping hard against her chest now and her mouth felt like sandpaper. Someone pushed her foreward and then someone had a hold of her arm and was guiding her up to the stage. Towards Jason. Toward Amelie and her inevitable death. Claire felt as though she was walking in a dream. Nothing felt real. On the stage she saw everyone from a different angle. She saw their pitiful, yet relieved faces stare back at her. Amelie started to talk but Claire was tangled and suffocating in her own thoughts.

"That concludes the drawing of the names for the third annual Hunger Games. Please give our tributes a round of applause and may the odds be ever in your favour."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Claire**_

A vampire guard grabbed Claire roughly by the arm and next thing she knew she was being hauled off the stage with Jason. She gave one last desperate glance at the crowd. People murmured to each other, obviously relieved they weren't called on. They were safe. Would live to see another year. They were not in danger. That was when the panic kicked in.

She struggled and kicked against the vampire guard holding her. He grunted and tightened his hold on her. "Stop." She struggled and squirmed against him. "_Let me go_! LET ME GO!"

He didn't even look at her, just continued off the stage, down the stairs and into a long, sleek limousine. He shoved her in the door, onto a dark leather seat. She sat between two vampire guards. There were two more sitting in front of her. Jason was no where in sight. Claire suspected he was being held down somewhere to stop him escaping.

The vampires held Claire's two arms in such a tight grip that she couldn't move the top half of her body and she was sure they were going to be bruised in the morning. She kicked her legs and shouted, and it didn't seem to bother the four other vampires in the enclosed space until one of them told her to shut up or she'd kill her right now, then go back and nab some other human to take Claire's place.

Claire shut her mouth and shrunk back into the seat.

Eventually, the limo stopped moving and the doors opened. Claire knew exactly where she was, even without taking a look at the tall lavish hotel. She had been forced to watch these games for two years now. Her stomach fell, and the feeling of dred left her feeling sick. She wasn't sure which was worse; driving here, or being here. At least while they were driving she could imagine something else. A different fate for herself. She could imagine she was driving to college, in which she hadn't attended in almost three years. Or could pretend she was going to get ice cream, silly as it sounds, or going to meet Shane . . . she shook herself. She couldn't think about Shane. She only let herself think of him once in a while, and only for miniscule amounts of time. Even then she still felt that familiar pang of loneliness and heartache and guilt . . .

No, no no. Now was not the time to break down. Now was the time to stand tall and confident and forget the things that made her weak. Because if she was weak she could never survive this. But that was easier said than done . . .

Claire took a deep, steadying breath and stepped - gracefully as she could - out of the limo. The first thing she saw was cameramen. All human. There were six of them, all crowding around her like she was a celebrity of some sort. They called her name and shouted things at her. Questions. Tried to provoke her into saying something she would regret later, something juicy they could quote in her upcoming interview. She raised her chin and followed the vampire guards into the tall hotel. She hoped she gave off an air of confidence. She knew all over Morganville humans and vampires alike were watching live and there would be reruns later on in the morning. She needed to look like a serious competitor.

Claire hoped she represented her district well. The past two Hunger Games didn't end well for their district. Claire's distict - from Founders Square - may have been the richest out of the six, but they were considered the weakest. Most of the humans and vampires from their district were from privalaged backrounds, which meant the flow of money and riches was great, but it also meant that many of them hadn't had to lift a finger in their lives. The majority weren't used to being in a situation where they had ever had to defend themselves - despite living in Morganville - and the outcome of this was that in the previous Hunger Games, tributes from their district were the first to die. Claire wasn't sure if this added or took away pressure from her, but she sure didn't want to think about it too long.

Inside the hotel it felt like she had walked straight into Victorian times. The foyers floor was dark hardwood, without a stain or scratch. The windows were large - and blacked out for the vampires - and reached from ceiling to floor. They had heavy curtains, a deep red color with lavish designes and frills and tassles. It was a large open space with a reception desk at the back and a seating area in the center. There was a plain hardwood table, surrounded by four dark wooden chairs, lined with plush deep purple fabric. Each of them was carved with intricate designes.

A vampire dressed in Victorian style clothes came to greet them. He looked like an old fashioned waiter. He nodded to each one of the guards individually, then layed his pale yellow eyes on Claire. He bowed deeply then guided her gently by the elbow towards one of the chairs. She sat greatfully into it. He asked her if she wanted anything to eat or drink and when Claire denied he scurried away through a door, which by the looks of it was a kitchen.

Claire's vampire guards exchanged a few short words that she didn't catch, then dispersed, leaving only one. She was tall and had bright blond hair tied back into a tight knot. Her face was serious, as it had been the whole limo ride and Claire wondered if she ever smiled. She sat down elegantly into the chair and sat very straight, shoulders back, chin up.

"My name is Michèle." She said, very fast and very business-like. "I am here to inform you of your schedule for today."

"It's fine." Claire chimed in. She couldn't help the attitiude that creeped into her voice. She knew it was dangerous, but couldn't help it. "I already know what happens. Spare me the speech."

She stared at Claire. Her face didn't change. Nor did she get up or move.

"After I am finished speaking with you, you will be handed over to your mentor. He will procede to take you to the spa, where you will be washed and be made look respectable. Then you will take part in a short meeting with your mentor and fellow vampire tribute before being showed your suit and left to get to bed. Any questions?"

She shook her head slowly.

Michèle stood up sharply and her heels cliped off the floor as she walked towards a door. She looked back at Claire like she was an irritable puppy peeing on the carpet. With a quick slash of her hand through the air she said, "Come. Follow me. Quick."

She jumped out of the chair and followed her through a heavy wooden door and down a long corridoor. She walked in long strides and Claire had to almost jog to keep up with her.

"Where are we going?" Claire breathed.

"To your mentor." She snapped and said no more.

Claire shut her mouth and preyed she would get a decent mentor. They changed every year and their districts last two mentors were awful and useless. One was a lazy big shot, who didn't give a damn whether his tributes lived or died. The other - just as useless - people thought was addicted to drugs. Nothing was ever released or said, but people in the Founders Square district speculated. It seemed tradition for their district to get landed with awful mentors and Claire hoped this year would break it. She didn't know if she even stood a chance in these games. All she knew is that a mentor can make or break a tributes chances.

Michèle stopped outside a door, carved with intricate designs of flowers. She took hold of the door knob, twisted it and slowly widened the gap. Claire's mentor was sitting inside, sprawled across a plush couch. One of his legs was hanging over the back of the chair and he was in the process of stuffing green grapes into his mouth.

A deep feeling of despair and helplessness rose in Claire's stomach.

"I'm going to die." She muttered, hopeless.

"That's not the type of spirit I expect from you, Claire. Chin up." Myrnin replied.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Shane**_

The gamemakers room was circular. It had big tv screens covering the walls, each of them currently black. In the middle of the room was a large, dark wood circular table with twelve chairs. The table was littered with papers and designs the architects couldn't be bothered to clean up.

Shane was the first there. Grudgingly, he sat into the chair nearest the door. Better safe than sorry . . .

Slowly the room began to fill. Vampires and humans alike came and seated until all twelve chairs were occupied and two tall, thin guards dressed in black stood at either side of the door. No one in the room spoke. No one made eye contact. Shane glared down at his clenched hands.

She floated into the room elegantly. Her hair was pulled back into a tight silver bun at the top of her head and she carried a small, white purse. It's golden chain hung from the crooke of her arm. Her features looked pale and sharp. And dangerous.

The Founder stood, hands clasped, at the table, directly across from Shane, causing the humans close to her to squirm unconcentedly in their seats. It wasn't often she visited the gamemakers room but when she did, Shane noted, she brought frost and panic.

Her eyes rested on each of the gamemakers in the room, without uttering a word. Shane could almost feel the panic, but his heart refused to beat any faster. Not for her. Finally, those cold eyes rested on Shane. He met them squarely. Her pale lips twitched into a small smile.

"I see you have desided to join us once more, Mr Collins," she said lightly. "Such a valuable asset to the Games. You make a wise decision."

Shane's face tightened into a mask, his muscles clenched so tightly he would have to tell himself to relax. Remind himself to breathe. He wanted to scream at her. Stand up and show her just what decisions he was willing to make. He imagined driving a stake into her black, dead heart. He clenched his muscled even tighter, afraid he would begin to tremble with rage.

The Founder turned away from him, clearly surprised at his newly found self control.

"I am pleased by the details of this years Hunger Games." she said looking at the television screens, that would soon show the arena. One of the vampire gamemakers beamed at her statement.

"My lady," he said. "We have been working around the clock to make it the greatest Games yet."

The Founder looked back at him for a few heartbeats and the smile faded from his lips. Fear grew in his eyes.

"I apologise, Ricardo." she spoke softly. "I was unaware you had the power to interrupt my speech."

"Yes, my lady," Ricardo whispered, terrified. "I am _most _sorry."

The Founder gave a quick, small nod at one of the guards.

"No!" Ricardo screached, as the guard left his post and grabbed him roughly. "No, Please! Show mercy! Mercy!"

His cries echoed around the room and slowly died as he was dragged from it and down the corridoor. No one moved as he cried. No one breathed. They knew better, Shane was bitter to admit. They had all seen it before.

Without a glance at the door, The Founder produced paper from her bag and one by one layed them neatly on the table. They were photographes. Twelve in total. Shane felt the air leave his lungs. His head felt incredibly light, as though he may faint.

There, beside a grimy looking Jason, was Claire. She looked different from when he saw her on tv at the reaping. The stylist had obviously gotton to her. Her hair was shiney and long and the dirt and grime had been scrubbed from her face.

Of course, Shane _knew _he would see her sooner or later. He knew she was going to be in the games. He just wasn't ready to _belive _it yet. He resisted the urge to reach out and pick up her picture. It had been _so long_. Everyday he ached to feel her, hold her, talk to her. Sometimes at night he would think he could hear her voice calling him and he dreamt about her almost every night.

Just when he thought his hands would betray him and reach out for the photo, he noticed Amelie was looking at him with amusement in her eyes. She was trying to hurt him, trying to make him crack. But of course she _would _so that. When Shane heard Claire's name the day of the reaping he had left work, ready to save her. In that moment he would have done anything it took.

On his way out of the building, Hannah Moses had stopped him.

"Shane!" she called sternly and grabbed his arm. He easily pulled away from her grip.

"I don't have time for this." he growled dangerously. "I've put up with this shit long enough."

Hannah pulled out her gun on one, smooth motion and aimed it at Shane's back as he tried to disappear out the front door.

"You go out that door, Shane, and I'll shoot you."

Shane turned around slowly. "What? So you're on their side now? You're with them?" he bellowed. "YOU TRAITER! HOW -"

"Shut up, Shane!" Hannah screamed then looked around nervously. She lowered her voice to a frantic whisper. "You should know better than anyone that having sides is a death sentance. For yourself and for her."

Some of the anger left Shane's eyes.

"I can save her." He hated himself for the tone of doubt in his voice. "She needs me."

"What you gonna do, Shane?" Hannah said reasonably, letting out a deep sigh. "Break into a security protected area and take on fifty armed vampire guards yourself?"

"I'll find help." Shane snapped defiantly.

"Now who's gonna help _you_? You might as well shoot _yourself _in the head."

Shane tried to control his body, stop it from trembling. His voice was very low when he spoke.

"I'll find a way."

Then, he turned despite Hannah's gun still aimed at him and jogged down the front steps of the gamemakers headquarters, into the smothering darkness.

But Shane hadn't found a way, nor had he found any help. He didn't have any friends in the workers district. Although he was one of the head gamemakers, and had been for three years now, he hadn't made any friends. It hadn't been high on his list of priorities after he, Michael, Eve and Claire had been split up and sent to different districts.

He sat up the whole day trying to think of a way to save Claire. Most of his ideas revolved around having no stratogy and a lot of force, but no matter how Shane tried to trick himself, he knew, as Hannah has said, he couldn't take on all those guards alone. Still, even surrounded with fear and hopelessnes, he took refuge in the sunlight. He sat in front of his tiny window and let it pour over him, closing his eyes against the touch of the warmth. Ever since Morganville had gone to shit everyone ran on the vampires clock. That meant both humans and vampires slept during the day and stayed awake at night. It was nice to feel something as mundane as sunlight again.

While watching his seventh cup of black coffe grow cold he heard a heavy knock on his door. He jumped and looked quickly at his watch. It was 7 p.m. Pretty early for anyone to call. Darkness had barely covered Morganville. He walked through his tiny, grungy apartment an looked through the peep-hole in the door.

"There is no need for that nonsense," a familiar voice called. "I already know you are there. I can hear your heart beating."

Shaen swung open the door and threw a hard look at Myrnin, who simply sauntered into his dingy kitchen/living room. He didn't seem to notice the mess.

"What do _you _want?"

"The grapevine whispers of your rebel." Myrnin said, while rummaging through a thatched bag that hung from his arm.

Shane shut the door silently and asked, "_My rebel_?"

"Certainly," Myrnin said matter-of-factly. "I believe you ran from the gamemakers headquarters. Quite a foolish move as Amelie will be sending her brutes after you in . . ." he took a break from rifling through his bag to look at a pocketwatch that sat in his breast pocket. "Approximately thirty-five minutes. "Ahh, here it is."

From his bag, he produced a wrinkled, battered looking envelope and handed it to Shane, who took it unsurely.

"It's not going to explode or anything is it?" Shane asked suspisiously.

"Why of course not." Myrnin said looking confused. "Why would it -? Oh, never mind."

Shane waited a beat and then asked, "Well what is it?"

"I have some important information I must tell you about." Myrnin said, completely ignoring Shane's question. "I have been appointed, in a quite daring move of Amelie's, Claire's mentor for -"

"_What_?" Shane exclaimed.

Myrnin let out an annoyed sound and he spoke quickly for fear Shane would interrupt him again.

"While I understand the fact that you being a gamemaker would not give you access to this information, I do not understand the horror in which covers your face." He shook his head. "Claire and I cannot speak freely, for fear of being overheard, but you must know that I do not plan for her to take part in The Games."

"We need a plan." Shane said egerly. A moment ago he had no ideas and the future had looked grim. Now, it was as if Myrnin had pulled back a curtain and let the possibilities shine through.

"While I do not believe this particular building is being intercepted," Myrnin said looking around sceptically. "We must be careful. I will utter the plan only once and never reapeat it ever again so you must listen carefully. There are five days before The Games start. I plan to let Claire take part in the interviews tomorrow and in the audition with the gamemakers. The latter will lead Amelie into a false sence of security. Let her believe you have given up hope of rescuing Claire. And for god's sake, boy, go back to work."

"But what's the plan?" Shane said impatiently.

Myrnin looked at him as if he was a puppy peeing on the living room carpet.

"After the personal audition with the gamemakers, I will cause a diversion . . . I do not have one planned yet, you must wait for my signal. You and Claire shall leave Morganville swiftly. I will find you a fast vehicle and you must get as far away as possible."

Shane had never liked Myrnin. He always thought, in the back of his mind, that Claire's old and crazy boss had feelings for her. Now he understood that Myrnin _did _love Claire. Just not in the way Shane had always feared. And he was fine with that.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Shane asked.

"Don't be stupid, boy." Myrnin snapped, but his large, dark eyes shone sad and honest.

Myrnin was putting his life on the line, Shane knew. If Amelie found out he disrupted her Games he wouldn't live to see another day, no matter how long they had been allies.

Shane's hands were shaking with excitement. Claire and him could _leave_. Really leave. He had dreamt of this moment for so long and now it was finally in his reach . . .

"Thank you." Shane said to Myrnin. He had never meant anthing so sincerely before.

Myrnin's expressionless mask broke for a moment and something Shane couldn't read flashed on his face. But then it was gone, and Myrnin was clearing his throat and talking again.

"You can expect Amelie's brutes to arrive at any minute. I would expect they will come to try and take you back to work, in which case I advise you to go willingly. If she believes - or even suspects - you have given up all hope on Claire the plan shall work better."

Myrnin nodded curtly and turned on his heel, causing the large, feathered hat he wore to teeter on his head.

"But what about this?" Shane asked, holding up the envelope Myrnin had given him.

"Open it and find out."

And with that, Myrnin disappeared through the door. Shane closed it once more and locked it. He sat down on his greasy two-seater couch and turned the envelope over. Amelie's seal was on the top left-hand corner and there, written in neat, small cursive was his name. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of it and he tore open the letter, throwing the torn envelope pieces on the ground. The letter was written in that same neat handwriting. It read:

_Shane,_

_I hope he explained everything okay and the details are clear. I can't write much, the letter could be intercepted. I love you._

Shane read those last three words again and again, then hugged the letter close.

Amelie's "brutes" arrived right on time. They charged through the door, breaking all seven of Shane's top quality door locks and surrounded him. There was ten of them, and they all looked the same, all tall and dressed in black. Before they had time to grab him, Shane raised his hands in surrender.

"Chill out, guys." he said, pulling on a jacket. "I'm comin'. Gimme a sec."

The main guards eyes wandered down to the coffee table in front of him where a half-empty bottle of scotch stood alone, beside a used empty glass. Shane had left it there for effect.

"You'll come willingly?" The guard asked sceptically.

"Of course." Shane spat. "I can't save her. No one can. I might as well try and get on with my life."

Shane stood up and pushed past the circle of guards, past his door, now lying on the floor, and went straight to work.

He sat quietly in the circular room, Amelie arrived unexpectedly and laid down the picture of the girl Shane was supposed to pretent to have given up on. Shane realised that she was testing him to see if he had indeed lost all hope. Well he wasn't about to give the game away.

He straightened in his chair, looking away from the unsmiling photo of Claire and also away from Amelie, who was pacing in a semi-circle. He focused his eyes on a small scratch in one of the television screens near the floor.

Amelie stopped pacing and all eyes in the room landed on her, even Shane's.

"I am to believe no one has any . . . _issues _with the details of this years Hunger Games?"

Eyes darted around the room, most of them at Shane, none of them sticking. Amelie let the silence drag out for a while and then she smiled savegly.

"Good. Becuase I plan for it to be the greatest yet."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Claire **_

* * *

Mynin had an iron grip on Claire's arm, something he seemed to have gotten used to in their last few days together. He was half marching half dragging her to the stylist's quarters, as Myrnin had told her, "You can't take part in the interviews looking like _that_."

They entered past the tall white columns and into a large oval shaped room. The other tributes were already there with their stylist's, putting make-up on them or adding final touches to their outfits. At the far side of the room Claire could see inbetween people, Jason waiting with a vampire guard hovering nearby.

Myrnin and Claire pushed through the crowded room towards Jason. As they came closer Claire could see that Jason was wearing handcuffs. Silver handcuffs. They had a long, clearly not silver, chain attatched to them that the vampire guard was holding. Claire winced at the smell of Jason's burning flesh.

"I'll take that, Mirenze." Myrnin said as he swiftly took the chain from the vampire guards hands. Mirenze's mouth opened in surprise and he began to speak but Myrnin interrupted him again. "I'll take it from here, run along now I'm sure The Founder has some nice little jobs for you."

As Mirenze slumped through the crowd defeatedly Myrnin ripped the handcuffs from Jason's hands, looking at his slightly singed fingers with disgust. Jason's wrists were much worse. The handcuffs had gouged a nasty looking trench into his wrists and Claire was almost sure she could see the white of bone. A brown-red liquid oozed from the wound and ran down Jason's arm.

Jason cradled his wrists carefully and looked at Myrnin with surprised disbelief.

"Don't look at me like that." Myrnin said. "If you try to escape your wrists won't be the only thing with gouges in them. Keep your fingers away from the wound and it'll heal fine."

"Hello?"

All of them looked behind Myrnin to see a woman. She was small and smiling. She shook her long blond hair out of her face and threw out a hand to Myrnin. "I'm Valerie, Claire and Jason's stylist."

"_Oh_," Myrnin said and drew out the word. "_You_. Yes, we won't be needing you." He spun her around and shoved her into the crowd. "Bye now!"

Then he turned back to Claire and shoved her into a chair beside Jason. There was a table set up beside them. On it was various bottles, brushes and paints. Myrnin picked up a large brush, dipped it in one of the paints and started dabbing it on Claire's face.

"Myrnin, what are you doing?" Claire asked and tried to spit out a bit of the paint Myrnin had gotten in her mouth.

"The theme of the interviews are famous couples of history. Look around, dear, you see James and Marie? They are King Henry the Eighth and Anne Bolyn, because of James' size I presume. And the tributes over there are Cleopatra and Marc Anthony. And over there by some measure of misfortune Elvis and Priscilla."

"And what are you doing to _us_?" Jason asked looking at Claire unsteadily.

Myrnin continued to talk as he dabbed paint on Claire's face.

"Well at first I was thinking Marie Antoinette and King Louis but I felt that could upset some of the crowd because you know how _that _ended. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Sharon and Ozzie. Garfield and Oddie." He contemplated. "Then I thought Adam and Eve. _Far _too upsetting for younger viewers."

"So who are _we_?" Claire asked desperatly.

"The Phantom and Christine." Myrnin said. "Now hold still."

"From _The Phantom of the Opera_? You've got to be kidding me."

Claire slumped back into her chair.

"The Phantom is a respected musical in the vampire world. The more vampires you please the more sponsors you get."

"But I thought," Claire started in a hushed tone. "that I wasn't going to be-"

"Shh," Myrnin said and slopped a paintbrush into pink paint. "We have to at least try to look as though we're opting for sponsers. Now sit back and let me concentrate on what you're going to wear."

"You don't even have that decided? The interview is in an hour!" Claire exclaimed and looked towards Jason for suport. He was lounging back in his chair watching Myrnin's paintbrush swirl in the pink paint, eyebrows raised.

"Relax. I know what I'm doing." Myrnin said.

"Yeah, because you're so fashionable." Claire retorted.

Myrnin looked offended and looked down at his outfit. He was wearing a blazer with little purple cats printed on it and bell-bottom black jeans. His feet poked out from the bottom and Claire could see he was wearing sandals of the most violent shade of yellow.

Myrnin's pale lips tightened and he began to softly brush the pink paint over Claire's lips, without saying a word.

"So . . ." Jason said. "What's _The Phantom of The Opera _anyway? Some kind of play? Sound's like a drag."

Myrnin rolled his dark eyes without stopping his vandalism of Claire's face.

"Fine, don't answer me." Jason said sharply. "_I _don't matter. So long as Claire's happy that's all that matters."

"Oh, shut up, Jason." Claire said hotly and then she whispered, "It's not like we're leaving you to die. You're escaping too."

"You frivolous child!" Myrnin spat. "You're acting like infants the both of you! Don't you understand you're lives hang in the balance? You may think no one is listening to you and you may very well be right but if you caught one vampires attention we'd be done for!"

Claire sank back in her chair, her eyes darting around the room nervously trying to see if they had caught anyones attention. Everyone seemed caught up in their own tributes.

"The problem with you two," Myrnin went on, "Is that you've been living without fear or attack for too long. You've become too comfortable and now you think nothing can stop you! You've forgotton the old ways of Morganville, where around every corner there was death and pain!"

Claire swallowed hard. Myrnin looked furious. He was breathing deeply and his dark eyes were fixed on hers. Willing her to fight back, to scream and shout and tell him he was wrong . . . but he wasn't.

"Whatever," Jason said and pushed himself out of his chair. he started to walk towards the exit. "I''m going to get something to drink."

Neither Claire nor Myrnin said anything. Myrnin picked up his paintbrush again, but this time his strokes on Claire's lips were much softer, almost like a kiss.

Claire looked out into the crowd behind Myrnin. He was, so unfortunatly, right. Claire had become soft. Despite the iron grip of the vampires and The Games so filled with death and horror, these days Morganville was pretty safe. Vampires didn't hunt humans. It was safe to walk at night. Humans and vampires lives in a kind of . . . peace. Until Fall once more rolled around and The Games begun again. A constant reminder that vampires are and will always be the stronger force.

"I apologize." Myrnin said softly after a long moment of silence. The anger had left his eyes. Instead, a sadness filled them. "It was rude of me to shout, especially at a lady."

Claire reached up and pushed away his paintbrush.

"Don't be sorry." She said. "You were right. I need to be more careful and I need to toughen up."

Suddenly, Myrnin looked as though he couldn't keep his eyes on her. He ripped his gaze from hers and stared dolefully into space, shaking his head gently.

"What?" Claire asked gingerly.

"I wish it didn't have to be like this. But one's wishes never truly come true in the way we imagine."

He lightly grasped Claire's chin and tilted her head so she was looking into his face. Sadness was engraved in it. His touch was so soft, so gentle. She closed her eyes and he traced a thumb over her eye lids, then down her face towards her neck. She could feel his breath, warm on her face. She took a quick breath and opened her eyes again, pressing her lips closed nervously. Myrnin let her go quickly and looked over at his table.

"White, I think." He said rapidly. "White would be something Christina would wear. I'll send for it."

And at vampire speed, in a blur, he was gone.

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**Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it!**

**Please consider leaving a review.**

**Love Cleo x**


	5. Chapter 5

_**Claire **_

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Lights. Lights so bright Claire winced and shielded her eyes with her hand. The crowd erupted in laughter.

"Oh, isn't she _darling_?"

"Look at her, tiny little thing."

"_That's the best Founders Square has to offer?"_

"Oh, shut up you. I hear she's smart."

"Smart enough to kill eleven other people?"

Claire winced again and made her way towards the couches, keeping her head down. Vampires sat in the crowd as they would at Victorian play. They looked like a cat that had caught the mouse. Lounging in the plush seats some of the women held fans. The men elaborately dressed and powdered, held small gold binoculars, even the ones at the front.

The humans in the crowd, however, had a different look in their eyes. Yes, they were interested, but it was more of a calculated gaze they held. Absorbing every word, every movement and facial expression.

Claire couldn't see any of this, of course. Although a few comments swam their way towards her from the audience. She was greeted on the center of the stage for a hug from Morley. The hug was false and quick and he let her go quickly with a sugary sweet smile. Still holding her hand lightly, he turned her towards the crowd and it erupted once more in cheers and polite applause.

Claire sat on the edge of the soft magenta couch. Taking a deep breath she looked out towards the crowd. She couldn't make anyone out, they were just shadows and murmurs. Strange, how shadows and murmurs could have the power to decide her fate. She tried to look like a serious competitor. Sit up straight, smile and look charming Myrnin had told her. She sat straight but could barely conjure up a smile. The thought of Shane in the crowd made her stomach do flips. All the Gamekeepers were in the audience. He was looking at her now, maybe lovingly, who knows? It had been three long years-

"What?" She said, head snapping towards Morley.

He had spoken.

He chortled and said, "That's a beautiful dress you're wearing. It certainly shows off your figure."

Claire looked at the floor, tugging at the hem of her dress, wishing it was longer. She bit her tongue and forced herself to look at Morley, drowning out the audience's whispers'.

"Thank you. It really complements my carotid artery, doesn't it?"

Suppressed laughter from the crowd.

"How scandalous!"

Morley's smile was bright, but his eyes shone with annoyance.

This time, Claire could smile.

"So you're one of the Founders Square tributes. The other is Jason Rosser. What do you think of him?" Morley asked, tilting his head inquisitively.

His expression, false curiousness mixed with annoyance and something much darker, made Claire wonder what kind of magic Amelie had him under. His sugary sweet smile, combed back hair, his practically _likable_ being wasn't _him_. The man in front of her was wearing a mask. For a moment Claire wondered how he really felt about it all. Did he despise doing the interviews? Did he ever feel sorry for them? Maybe he only felt sorry about having to wash himself.

Claire smiled at the last thought and Morley said, "Oh, you're grinning at the thought of him. Is there anything you'd like to share with us?"

Claire saw cameras moving and focused her eyes on one before looking back at Morley. "How'd you know I was thinking of him fondly? Maybe I was smiling at the thought of killing him."

"My, my, you're turning out to be quite the pit-bull, you know that Claire? Do you think you have much of a chance in these games? You were voted to be one of the first to go. Possibly due to your . . . stature."

"It isn't the size of the dog that matters. It's the bite that's in him."

Morley smiled at her quip. A real smile. A grin that snaked its way up his lips so that it was crooked on one side of his face and his eyes twinkled dangerously.

"Why do you think people should sponsor you?" He asked, leaning on the side of the couch, indulging in her presence.

"I'm not my own advocate." She said and focused her eyes on a camera. "I'm not going to sit here and list off reasons why you should keep me alive. I may not look it, but I'm strong. I've survived a lot and I'll survive this." Claire tilted her chin and looked confident.

"Thank you, Claire." Morley said and stood up, opening his arms wide. "An applause for Ms Danvers."

The sound filled her ears. It was so loud she wanted to cover them. She stood up, nodded her head at the audience and let Morley lead her off the stage.

Myrnin was waiting for her backstage and he immediately pulled her towards the exit. "Well done." He breathed as they walked. "Very well done. Although some of the other tributes may have succeeded in winning over the public better, you did better than Jason. Come. You must sleep. The auditions with the Gamekeepers are tomorrow."

The thought made Claire's throat close up and sting with tears. She was quiet the entire way back to the apartments. She could only think of one thing.

Even after Myrnin left her to the servants and her night-clothes were on her, tucked into the bed that was too big and too cold, she could only think seeing him tomorrow. She worried. What if those bright brown eyes had dimmed in the years they had spent apart? But that was ridiculous! They were leaving together tomorrow after the audition. Myrnin would cause a distraction and then they would both leave this awful town together. But laying there in the dark her thoughts seemed to suffocate her and she could only think of the space of time that had passed. The love they'd left behind. What if that love he'd had had died? Did he even know her anymore? Three years was a long time to be separated. She kept herself awake worrying. Tossing and turning until she was wide awake. She didn't even find comfort in the morning sun.

She wondered if she ever would again.

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**Thanks for reading! It's been a while since the last update, so I hope you enjoyed it.**

**Reviews are always welcome.**

**Love, Cleo.**


	6. Chapter 6

_**Claire**_

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This part was a mystery. No one knew what happened in the auditions with the Gamekeepers. No one except the ones who had been through it themselves, but they were tight-lipped about that certain subject. Anticipation gripped Claire's chest and she felt dizzy with worry, as if her knees might collapse under her. She breathed deeply to calm herself. She only had to get through this. Only this and then she and Shane would leave, according to Myrnin. She didn't know how he would pull of such a daring escape but he had promised Claire. And that was all she had to go by so she decided to trust his word.

Myrnin wasn't with Claire now. She was on her own, in a little sound-proof dressing room. He had dropped her off with her clothes, warned her to keep up the act and do her best and then wandered off somewhere. Presumably to bother Jason. She had put on her clothes, black for stealth and tight for safety. No weapons. Yet. She thought her choice of clothes were best (better than the armour Myrnin wanted her to wear from the 13th century. He had included a long umbrella and said they were dangerous weapons after seeing an example in a movie) she didn't know what she was up against.

There was a knock on the door.

Claire turned towards it and said, "Come in".

A man entered, Claire had learned his name was Killian. Human. He was well-built with long blond curls framing his face and he was holding a clipboard. He closed the door behind him and said, "Good, you're dressed. You're one of the last to audition. Jason's after you."

"What do I do in there?" Claire asked. _Fail to prepare and prepare to fail and all that bull . . ._ "Myrnin wouldn't tell me."

"That's what I'm here for." He looked at his clipboard and shuffled through pages, then handed it to her along with a pen. The page was filled with writing and it looked very formal and . . . binding. "You need to sign here." He pointed to a line directly under ten other signatures. Claire recognized some of the names. Some of her fellow tributes.

Killian saw Claire's questioning glance and answered. "It's a contract to say you won't tell anyone what happens in there. And that you agree with it."

"But I don't know what happens! And I doubt I agree with it!" Claire exclaimed.

He sighed a very human sigh and said, "I have to tell you _after_ you sign it."

"And what if I do tell someone? Hmm?" Claire asked. It sounded bizarre to her, all this legal gibberish. Hunger Games was one hundred per cent illegal, they killed people! Yet they chose to worry about people keeping quiet?

"Your tongue gets cut off." Killian said flatly. "Just sign it, please."

Claire gripped the pen in her right hand. It had The Founder's seal in it. She had no other choice. She scribbled her signature, noticing Jason's wasn't there yet and handed it back to Killian.

"So tell me now." Claire said, crossing her arms.

He began to explain. "When you go in you'll be standing in a large, open room. There'll be a one-way mirror in front of you, the Gamekeeper's will be behind that. You won't be able to see them, but they'll certainly be able to see you. There'll be a selection of vampire-killing weapons in front of you. Choose _one_. When you do, you'll be addressed by the head Gamekeeper, Mayhew. He's a vamp, and a ruthless bastard." Claire felt as though Killian forgot who he was talking to. "He's quiet, barely talks, but that's the most frightening thing about him. When he does talk it's to kill someone, most likely."

Killian looked ashamed at Claire's wide-eyed stare.

"Sorry." He said, glancing away and then back. "Anyway, you'll be fine. It's not him you have to worry about. After he's finished addressing you you'll have to show your skills in fighting."

"Fighting." Claire repeated, her imagination taking over in the worst way. "Fighting _who_?"

"One of the undead." Killian said grimly. "A vampire."

"_What_?!" Claire exclaimed.

"You'll get a weapon and you'll have to put it down. Two extra points if you kill it."

"And what if I can't kill it?" Claire's heartbeat was speeding up now.

"Most can. They're given pills or some kind of injection to slow them down so the fight is fair. Kind of the same with the vamp tributes. They're given humans who are skilled fighters so their advantages of strength and speed don't mean a definite win."

"Oh, God . . ." She didn't know what to think. She was out of practice, hadn't had to fight a vampire in _years_.

Killian sensed her worry and said softly, "You'll be fine. You're strong and you're a dark horse. I can tell. Always could." He checked his watch. "Five minutes and those doors behind you will open to the auditions. Say a prayer or whatever." He patted her shoulder. "Good luck."

Then he left and Claire collapsed down on one of the wooden benches on the wall. She was _not_ prepared for this. Hand over her mouth, her eyes darted around the room. No windows. The doors were all locked, she'd checked earlier. No escaping this. She saw a small camera in the corner above a mirror. Suddenly a bout of rage filled her. She was even being watched now? She stood up and faced the camera. She felt like an animal in a cage, being watched by people at the zoo. Only this was different. The tigers were watching _her_. Air was coming easy to her, now. She opened her mouth to shout at the camera like a madman when the doors behind her made a noise. She spun around to see them sliding apart to reveal a large hall.

Forgetting the camera, she walked slowly and warily into it, swallowing her fear and anger and shoving it to the back of her mind. Her footsteps echoed around the room on the black and white tiled floor. Her gaze flittered over the large mirror. She knew the Gamekeepers were behind there, watching her. Shane. The thought of him make her stomach churn. He was going to have to watch her kill a vampire. _What if he watches me die?_ She thought and quickly abandoned that thought. She saw the rack holding the weapons in the center of the room. She walked to it, remembering Killian's words.

_Pick one . . ._

She looked at each carefully, weighing up her options. There was six to choose from. A stake (plain wood, no sliver), a small container of silver powder (not enough to injure a vamp for more than a few minutes), a silver knife, a wooden cross (insulting), a contraption that sprayed silver nitrate and water (how ironic that Shane had invented it) and a small circular object. Claire couldn't figure out what it was for. She reached out with furrowed eyebrows and picked it up to examine it.

"Claire Danvers," A loud voice said. Mayhew. His voice was coming from speakers on the wall. Claire jumped and almost dropped the object, which felt light in her hands. "Now that you have chosen your weapon, your audition shall begin."

"What -? No, this isn't my weapon!" Claire said, panicked, but the voice was gone and metal was somehow moving over the rack, blocking the rest of the weapons. Now, a large metal rectangle remained in the centre of the room.

"Wait-!" Claire cried out but already another door at the end of the hall was opening.

She gasped.

A vampire staggered out. His lips were pulled back to show sharp teeth. His clothes were dirty and ragged. His eyes were vacant, showed no sign he knew her, red as blood and they fixed on Claire. And his blond curls, which used to bounce so happily on his head, were now greasy and flat.

"Oh, no." Claire breathed. "Michael?"

He said nothing. He didn't recognize her and he began to make his way towards her. He was slow for some reason.

Claire began to back away. "Michael, it's Claire! Claire! Do you remember me?"

He snarled and broke into a run towards her.

She yelped and dashed behind the rack. She opened her palm to reveal circular object. What was she supposed to do with this? Choke him with it? If she could get close enough to his mouth without being bitten, maybe . . .

Then he appeared from around the back of the rack and his arm shot out to grab her. He missed her by an inch and she danced back.

"Michal, please," She cried. "You know me."

He growled and lunged towards her. She didn't move on time and his weight pushed her to the ground, him on top of her. She screamed at the feeling of pinpricks on her neck and tried to push him off of her, but he was too heavy. She was pinned to the floor. She could move nothing but her neck. Without thinking she raised her head and bit into his exposed shoulder until the overpowering taste of copper filled her mouth. Michael yelped and moved enough for her to push him off and climb quickly to her feet. She spat blood out of her mouth and swiped her dripping chin.

Michael was jumping to his feet now too and Claire ran to take cover behind the rack. She was still grasping the circular object in her hand and was smacking it off the other when Michael appeared. He looked angry now, and scarier and when he reached out to grab her, Claire was already there, punching him in the throat. He looked as though he barely felt it and continued to grab a handful of her hair and pulled it to hit her head off the metal. She heard a meaty sound and her vision swayed at the impact. She dropped her 'weapon' and then she heard Michael hiss and let her go. When she steadied herself she covered her eyes from blinding light. Where was it coming from? Michael was on the floor now, screeching in pain. Her weapon! Still covering her eyes against the glare, she blindly searched for it. When she found it she picked it and found that light was only coming out of one side so she aimed it at Michael. When the light hit his skin he wailed in pain. The sound was awful against Claire's ear and she smelled burning flesh. In a moment he was up in flames, burning before her. She dropped the weapon in immediately. It clattered against the ground.

"Oh, Michael," She said, looking at his burning body. Tears stung her eyes and she could hardly believe what she had done.

Then the door opened once more and two men dressed in black rushed out, holding fire extinguishers. They ran towards Claire and Michael and one kicked the weapon away from them, which was now directing it's light at the ceiling. They sprayed Michael with the extinguisher as Claire watched. Eventually he was put out. He lay on the floor, twisted into an impossible mold. His skin was a disturbing shade of red and black and open sours covered it. He was weeping.

The sound made Claire's knees go from under her and she collapsed to the ground.

"Will he be okay?" Her voice sounded very small. Neither of the guards answered her as they carried Michael away from her. Tears wet her cheeks. She watched them leave.

Mayhew's voice came through the speakers.

"Your audition has ended. Please make your way through the dressing-room doors in which you entered."

Claire turned towards the mirror and gulped in a breath. "That's _it_?" She said and her voice sounded raw and angry. "That's all you have to say after that? After I almost killed one of my best friends?"

"Please leave through the doors you entered." Mayhew repeated.

She kept her eyes on the mirror, _knowing_ they could see her.

Her voice rose. "That's it? I could have killed Michael! YOU BASTARDS!" She was shouting now and crying at the same time. She climbed to her feet. "HOW DARE YOU? YOU EVIL BASTARDS-!"

Then arms were around her, confining her and Myrnin whispered, "Stay calm, child. Pull yourself together."

She relaxed in his arms and was now sobbing.

"How could Shane do this?" She whispered as Myrnin walked her out. "How could he?"

She couldn't wrap her head around it. He was behind the mirror, he _knew_. How could you be so callous towards your best friend?

The doors closed behind them and Myrnin sat her down on the wooden bench. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. Then he paced the room, murmuring to himself. Claire caught a look at refection in the mirror below the camera. She looked horrid. Her hair was out of its bun and sticking up at all angles. There was smeared blood around her mouth and her eyes were red and swollen from crying. She tore her gaze from herself and looked at Myrnin and said, "What are you saying?"

He looked at her and she saw pity in his eyes. "I'm calculating whether or not your little episode will have lost us marks. I believe so. And you were doing so well." He sounded disappointed.

"You were watching?" Claire asked, surprised.

"Yes, of course." He stopped pacing and said, "Every mentor gets to watch. Now, come. We must get you cleaned up. Jason's next and also last and the scores will be after the dinner and then _you shall go to bed early_."

She knew why he emphasized the last few words. He was talking about his diversion, so Claire and Shane could get away. She nodded numbly. After today, she wasn't sure she even knew Shane anymore.

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**Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it and if you did please leave a review.**

**Love, Cleo**


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